


make me feel like new

by mellerbee



Series: long time running - d/s verse [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 NHL Season, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Exposition, Gen, M/M, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellerbee/pseuds/mellerbee
Summary: Marcus Johansson is a Boston Bruin.





	make me feel like new

**Author's Note:**

> this is both an exposition fic for later d/s verse stuff, and also i had to write something with mojo in boston. not really much of a plot, but i had fun working out his character.
> 
> title from 'now that i've found you' by alison krauss and union station.
> 
> unbeta-ed as usual.

Boston is fine. 

Marcus has a good feeling about it, has heard a lot of good things about the team and the organization. He said it all in his interviews, meant every word that came out of his mouth. He was excited to make the playoffs, be a serious contender. The guys had all been good to him so far, he’d gotten plenty of texts and calls beforehand. Told the standard “my dynamic won’t be interfering with my hockey,” but also commented he was looking forward to having so many other subs in the room. Five in Washington most years and five in New Jersey was nice, but seven made it seem more normal. Like less attention would be paid to him. Which was always a perk in his book. 

A handful of guys from D.C. called to wish him luck, notably Ovi telling him to make sure he knows how good a lay Bergeron was before the season ended. Marcus had plenty of follow-up questions to that, but Nicke took the phone away before he could ask. 

“How much are you bringing?” Nicke asked in Swedish, because Nicklas Backstrom didn’t believe in greetings. 

“Couple suitcases to start. Weather’s always weird there, isn’t it? Four or five suits. Hair dryer. Laptop. Things I need.” He rattled off, surveying the mild chaos in his bedroom. He doesn’t expect to stay past May or June, but he’s waiting until he has more than a day free to move into the condo they had for him. All this he told Nicke, he dommed him for a while, was his friend, and figures he should know. 

 

“GM talked to you? Coach?” Marcus has learned that the sharpness to his voice means he’s concerned. Which is a lot of times. 

“Not coach, but manager did. Sweeney is his name, right?” He should know things like that, he’s the one who traded for him, but he’s a little more occupied with things like how to pack hair pomade. “Told me he was looking forward to having me on the team, to let someone know if there was something they could do to help me settle in, the usual.”

There was a long pause, before Nicke spoke up again. “So you’re happy?”

It took Marcus an equally long time to figure out how to answer that. “Yeah,” he settled on. “I am.”

“That’s good, Mackan. I’m happy you’re happy.”

The next person who calls him is John, because he’s a horrible gossip, but also the only person Marcus has played with before.

“Figure I’m not the first guy to welcome you here?” He starts out with, audibly hesitant. 

“And not the last,” Marcus agrees, because god knows how many people have acquired his number at some point or another. So far it’s only been Chara and Marchand, who were both mostly polite. Told him surface-level things about the locker room, but not who he’s going to get the personal information from. As mentioned before, John’s a gossip. “You dying to tell me anything?” 

“Waiting for you to ask.”

Hmm, alright. “What’s it like?” He starts with, blunt and to the point. “With all the subs there?”

John laughs, which can mean one of several things. “It’s great, man.”

That’s certainly not the answer he was expecting, so he waits it out.

“You’ll love it, seriously,” John continues. “No one cares about it, unless you want them to. I mean, there’s all the attention I want on me, but it definitely doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Is that normal?” Marcus blurts out. “The attention? Is that what’s expected?”

“There’s...not exactly a normal,” John’s voice slows down. “It varies. There’s requirements, but they’re player decided, so it’s not like management controls stuff. You can stick by yourself, even, if you want to.”

Marcus hums in response, which must be all the prompting John needs to continue. 

“Guys will like your quiet, seriously. Maybe some of the switches, couple who are free…” he trails off, and there’s some mumbling on that end of the phone. “Well, just Nordy. Krech might be busy, the kids are together, and Coyle is in a similar place to you. But, I mean, you’re not too limited with options. That is, if you want to scene right off the bat. No one’s gonna push you to.”

He gives him a noncommittal noise back, tucks his legs up under him and rests his chin on his hands. “Who you with now?”

John definitely perks up at the question, but there’s tinges of embarrassment in his voice. “Got, uh, a couple.”

“You have more than a couple. I know you do.”

“That’s rude!” He squeaks back, but Marcus knows he sounds less nervous. “Krug, mostly, sometimes I stay with him after games. He doesn’t do casual much, though. Miller, occasionally, he’s definitely rougher than you like. Backes is every now and then, I think he has more subs than he has goals this season. Probably too American for you.”

“Sometimes I like Americans.” Marcus ponders, but John cuts him off. 

“No, you don’t,” he tells him firmly. “You don’t like cut dicks. Everyone knows.” 

“I’m never coming for advice again,” comes the threat. “You much too pushy.”

John laughs for a good 20 seconds. “I give the best advice, we all know.” There’s a silence, and Marcus thinks he hung up, before hearing: “Hey JoJo? Welcome to Boston.”

-

Welcome to Boston. Marcus is eternally glad he’s played mostly in big cities, because he wouldn’t have been able to handle these roads when he first came to the US. It takes a couple possibly-illegal u-turns before he parks his rental at the practice arena, under a sky that could either be threatening to snow or rain. He’d already met with several front office members earlier in the morning, gone over his preference of dynamic involvement, where he’s going to be living, what jersey number he’ll wear, things like that. Introduction things. Things that are the same everywhere.

Agents and coaches tell you that locker rooms are the same everywhere. That couldn’t be further than the truth. So far, everything he’s heard about the Boston group has been good. Nevertheless, there’s still nerves threatening to shut him down as he follows the hallway to the locker room. 

Sometimes, the first thing that hits you is the stench of gear, or everyone’s eyes on you. This time it’s a tape ball. Square in the chest, before tumbling back to the ground. He hears a quiet “oh my god,” and then a couple bouts of hysterical laughter. 

A kid runs up to him and scoops it off the ground, grins at him rather blindingly, and sticks out his hand to shake. “I’m Jake,” he introduces himself as. “DeBrusk. I was trying to get the tape in the trash - not that you’re trash - shit.” He bounces back on the balls of his feet. “Welcome to Boston,” he finalizes. “Nice to meet you.”

Marcus takes a second or two to process that. If everyone here has that kind of energy, he’s not sure if he can keep up. “Uh, thanks.” His accent is thick on his tongue, clumsy. “Glad to be here.” Jake grins at him again, then is running off, presumably to continue getting dressed for practice.

The equipment manager swoops in next, guides him over to his workstation, away from all the commotion. “First number 90 in Bruins history, huh? Welcome.” He grins as well, warm and genuinely welcoming. He goes over everything possibly needed in detail, from skate sharpness to gloves to how many sticks to if he has a preferred place in the locker room. The whole time taking notes on the answers Marcus gives. Some of the stuff, he himself doesn’t even have memorized. Eventually they’ve exhausted every piece of gear he could possibly wear, and the equipment manager, Keith, apologizes for holding him up and opens the door for him.

There’s only a couple guys left in the locker room, all looking seconds away from heading out onto the ice. Chara is one of them, somehow seeming taller than he ever has on the ice, but that might be because only one of them is wearing skates. He apologizes for the fact, shakes Marcus’ hand with an impossibly strong grip and once again welcomes him to the team.

“If there is anything else you need,” he tells him, the combination of height and eye contact incredibly imposing. “Don’t hesitate to ask someone, yes? We want you welcome here.”

Marcus finds himself believing him easily. He thanks him, earning a warm smile in response, and when he walks off he realizes he hasn’t even gotten the chance to take his jacket off. 

Practice itself is a different story. While things take a second or so to get used to, hockey remains hockey, and there’s nothing strange or foreign. He’s on a line with the kid from earlier, Jake, who’s energy clearly doesn’t diminish on the ice and presents itself additionally in both speed and goals. Krejci is at their center, and it’s not long before their line clicks, he’s remarkably easy to read off of. Coach tells him he’ll be playing with them again for tonight’s game, and something in him settles a little bit more. He likes definites. 

He’s in the middle of slipping his shoes on when someone sits down beside him. Startled, he looks over immediately, finding David Krejci in the stall beside him. “We’re all actually excited you’re here, you know.” He says, matter of fact, voice much softer off the ice than it is on. Marcus isn’t at all sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. “We’re not welcoming you just because we’re supposed to. Johnny told us good things.”

“Johnny?”

“Moore.” Krejci says, like it’s obvious. “There’s a couple doms interested, if you want.”

There’s a lot of questions Marcus has been given today that he’s not sure how to answer. “Right now?”

“We have a game tonight.”

Marcus is starting to like how blunt this guy is. Reminds him of Nicke, a little bit. “Right,” he echoes himself. “I don’t think I’m ready to jump in quite yet.”

Krejci pats his knee, moves to stand. “That’s alright,” he pauses, looks around for a second. “You’ll see after the game.”

And then he’s gone, through the door, leaving Marcus with more cryptic answers that only bring more questions up.

-

The room is buzzing after the game, the pure energy after any big win like that. Marcus tallies an assist for himself, not enough to get much attention, especially after the night some of the guys had. Most seem to have usual partners, but there’s not much direction. He focuses himself on getting out of his gear, practiced and methodical. The sounds of the locker room wash over him, a familiar cacophony of languages. Someone from PR comes over to tell him he has time for a shower before media, and Bergeron shoots him a smile on his way past. 

There’s quite a bit to pass on the way to the showers, a couple guys bumping into him and whooping. Jake, clearly gotten over his earlier awkwardness, tackles him in a hug, yells something unintelligible in his ear. Marcus has to pry him off like a particularly sweaty 6’0” octopus, tells him something about how sweet his goal was. 

Jake smiles like a maniac and runs off, presumably to terrorize someone else with hugs and noise. 

Boston is fine. Maybe, just maybe, more than fine.

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for more d/s verse stuff from me.
> 
> tumblr is mellerbees and twitter is thegoblinwrites.


End file.
